


Red Rhapsody

by arcadenemesis



Series: Of Glass Hearts & Gold [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Desperately and Deeply Requited Love, Ice Skating, Implied Allura/Lotor (Voltron), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Sporting Injuries, alternate universe - figure skating, pairs skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 16:29:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadenemesis/pseuds/arcadenemesis
Summary: Shiro first sets eyes on him at the gala for Worlds. Under jet black hair, there is a flash of crystal blue that Shiro feels woefully unprepared for.“I see you've finally spotted our Golden Child,” Allura says beside him, and Shiro starts."He's a big fan of yours, you know? I should introduce you.”





	Red Rhapsody

**Author's Note:**

> _This can be read alone, but to better understand the story and the spaces between in this one, I would recommend first reading Part 1 in the series: Prelude in E Minor._

Shiro first sets eyes on him at the gala for Worlds. Under jet black hair, there is a flash of crystal blue that Shiro feels woefully unprepared for.

“I see you've finally spotted our Golden Child,” Allura says beside him, and Shiro starts.

 _You could have warned me_ he wants to say, but that’s unfair given how much Allura messages him about his old rink. He's suddenly kicking himself for not asking more about Keith Kogane, the no-name novice jumping triple axels in California in the weeks after his departure.

“This is his last junior comp,” Allura continues, holding up the conversation while Shiro tries to locate his tongue. “He's a big fan of yours, you know? I should introduce you.”

Shiro feels guilty, because his one track-mind on his senior competitors has left him clueless about the upcoming juniors. And if Keith is even half as beautiful on the ice as he is here, wedged tight between Lotor and Iverson, then he has been missing out on something special. He shakes his head out of embarrassment.  
“Maybe later.”

* * *

It's 8am and Shiro's heart is already racing.

After hearing the whispers about Iverson and Kogane’s blow up and apparent departure from the team, Shiro had panicked. He had only just had the chance to finally see Keith in action with his own eyes, and he had been breathtaking. Livestreams and YouTube videos didn't even begin to provide justice for the real thing. There was a poetic ferocity in the way he moved on the ice, and his attempt at a quad Lutz so late in his program simply had Shiro stunned. It's clear to him that Keith is a natural talent, but he also pushes himself to be so much more. It would be a modern tragedy if he left the sport now.

He panics anew when he enters the arena late in the evening and watches him immediately crash into the ice. For a moment, tripping as he tugs on his skates, he thinks he's killed him. He soon discovers that he's tougher than he looks. He pulls him up from a death spiral and his second discovery of the night is that crystal blue is actually deep violet. Shiro had a feeling he was already gone. Now he knows for sure.

Keith arrives in the hotel lobby ten minutes late looking like he may have only scrambled out of bed seconds ago. It tugs at Shiro's chest in the warmest way. He buys him a coffee and watches as he wakes up in stages. His own drink goes cold, forgotten.

* * *

They stay in touch and come together again at Worlds in March. He finds himself struck with a renewed admiration when Keith defies his obvious disadvantage to stand on the podium for bronze through no one's merit but his own, coach or no coach. Shiro almost begs his own coach, winner’s bouquet still in hand, to take him in on the spot. But he sets aside his own selfish desires, and they both decide Ottawa makes the most sense. Montgomery is all too happy to take him in. Shiro breathes a little easier knowing it's not the end of the line.

_I can't believe you're flying over to make sure he's settling in._

Shiro can hear Allura laughing through the text.

_It's a training exchange. And it's not like it's the first I've done at Montgomery’s rink._

He wonders if perhaps he's protesting too much as he hits send on a second reply.

_It's just good timing is all._

The PA calls his row and he grabs his bag from the airline lounge as his phone chimes again.

_Sure, Jan._

* * *

He seems far more relaxed in Ottawa. His hair is getting longer, and to Shiro's dismay, it's a fatal combination with tight jeans and a red jacket. He needs the time alone in his hotel room just to regroup at the end of every day, and he starts to wonder if coming over was a mistake. But he can’t fight the magnetic pull that has him staying a little longer at the rink after training, and longer again at Keith’s apartment hours after they pack dinner away. He's only human, and a weak one at that - at least when it comes to Keith, anyway.

Shiro still hasn't quite got over the shock of seeing him straddling the Harley. It's by far the most expensive thing Keith owns, judging by the bare decor of his living space, and it's obviously his pride and joy. With his helmet on his knee, he’s the poster child for every teenage rebellion fantasy he’s ever had. Shiro feels personally victimised and thinks it should be illegal for anyone to be so obscenely attractive without even trying.

His collar grows itchy and warm, and his mouth goes dry when Keith tells him to jump on the seat behind him again on their first day off. His hands hover for a moment before they grip onto Keith's hips lightly. But Keith weaves a little on the reckless side to get through traffic in a rush to get out of the city, and Shiro thinks that's a perfectly valid and acceptable reason to secure his arms around his waist instead. He takes them over the river and into Quebec, where Keith fumbles endearingly with the very sparse French in his arsenal to get them ice creams at the park near Lake Beauchamp. He blushes when the bemused van operator responds with perfect English, and harder again when he sees Shiro is trying not to laugh. He grumbles something under his breath as he thrusts the sprinkled cone under his nose. And yeah, perhaps it dispels the cool guy persona into something a little more dorky, but Shiro is completely charmed.

Keith seems to hold on to an insecurity while he eats, so Shiro breaks the silence that settles as they look out over the lake.

“What's the difference between a hippo and a zippo?”

Shiro is aware Keith has started staring at him like he’s grown another head. He barrels forward regardless, straight-faced.  
“One's really heavy and the other's a little lighter.”

Keith blinks, but then his expression cracks and he curls over in unrestrained laughter, endangering his ice cream cone. Shiro doesn't think the joke is _that_ funny, but that doesn't stop the victorious joy that blasts through him at the sight. He's going to have to update his Wikipedia page: this is his greatest achievement to date, gold medals be damned.

Shiro gives up on the notion of using the hotel room for anything but a place to sleep within a week, and finds it easy to make himself at home in Keith’s presence. He’s reading Michelle Kwan’s _Heart of a Champion_ on Keith’s couch when the other skater limps over and sets himself down far too carefully at the other end. Without giving it proper thought, he pulls Keith’s bruised and blistered feet into his lap. He pretends to focus on the words on the page in front of him when Keith stares at him in surprise. So he pushes his thumb into a knot he feels in his calf and Keith seethes and then _groans_ in a way that suddenly sends all the blood in his body rushing south.

“Better?” he asks, internally congratulating himself for keeping his voice steady as he glances up.

Keith closes his eyes and nods, biting his lip in a way that Definitely Does Not Help Matters, and Shiro tries not to squirm as he looks resolutely back to his book. He keeps kneading at both his calves in turn and focuses on his breathing. But he reads the same line about 87 fucking times before he gives up, saying goodnight before their food even arrives so he can take care of business alone in his hotel room.

It feels like he's crossed a new point of no return and he finds it difficult to look Keith in the eye the next morning on the ice. But the other skater seems completely oblivious, so Shiro thinks perhaps it's not actually branded all over him like he fears. He decides he’ll just have to behave himself for the rest of the exchange.

Within days, he breaks his new self-imposed ‘no touch’ rule with some simple lifts between drills, because what mere mortal could possibly be so strong to resist in the presence of Keith Kogane. He fits perfectly in his arms, and hearing him laugh makes Shiro feel invincible. Toward the end of the exchange, Lance - one of the skaters on the cusp of his senior debut - asks when it's going to be his turn to play pairs with Shiro and bursts out laughing at the scowl Keith gives him in response.

Then all too soon it's over, and Shiro has to go home to prepare programs for the new season. He sits down on the plane, and it feels terribly like he's left something important behind.

* * *

Shiro wonders if he is supposed to feel upset when Keith snatches gold and his record almost one year to the day since they first met. All he holds is unerring adoration when he watches him touch the medal at his throat, as if he doesn't believe it's real.

That feeling snakes its way into his gut and mutates into something with claws when Keith jumps _his_ Lutz in tight leather and chains to classic rock music. It leaves him off-balance and dizzy, and infinitely glad his own exhibition came before, because he's not exactly sure he remembers how to breathe, let alone skate.

The gala dinner follows and Shiro still feels dazed. He’s definitely reading way too much into one silly jump, so he keeps some distance to avoid blurting out something stupid in front of the entire room. He takes up residence at the bar with Allura, engaging where needed during her animated analysis of the new senior pairs. He glances up over a third glass of champagne to see Lotor standing far too close to Keith for his liking. The platinum-haired skater talks with him a moment then drags him onto the dance floor with a wicked grin and the creature curled in Shiro’s belly _snarls_. He chokes on his drink when Lotor twirls the other skater and lowers him into a romantic dip. He hopes Keith looks a little reluctant, but there's a small smile on his lips and it makes Shiro's heart twist.

“You're not listening to a single word I'm saying, are you?”

Shiro almost drops his glass and tries not to look guilty.  
“Of course I am!” he insists, too fast. “We were talking about how the Spanish pair always gets overscored for their presentation.”

“Swiss,” Allura corrects, annoyed, but there's a edge of amusement to it.  
“You are so transparent,” she accuses. “If you're so jealous, just tell Lotor to ff--" Shiro cuts her off with a hand to her mouth, his flush betraying an otherwise calm outward front.

“Allura,” he warns under his breath, “not in front of the entire ISU. Please.”

She rolls her eyes and he decides it's safe to let go. Her voice is a little more discreet when she speaks again.  
“You like him,” she states, and even with eight inches on her, he feels small under her scrutiny.

“Of course I do,” he tries as casually as possible. “He's very easy to like if you just talk to him. More people should try it.”

Allura raises an eyebrow, and Shiro knows that's not what she means.

“Hopeless,” she sighs, before marching over to the pair to demand Lotor dance with her. Shiro sees his eyes widen in surprise and hears his protests, but he follows her like a puppy, and he wonders whether maybe he's not the only one in the room nursing a crush the size of the planet.

He watches Keith's bemused expression as Allura leads Lotor away, then feels himself become frozen to the spot when he meets his eyes from across the room. He finishes his drink, places the glass on the bar, and walks out of the room to gather his mind.

Keith finds him on the rink, and he's all cocky demands and confidence and far, far too much for Shiro's muddled mind to handle. When he ends up pinned to the ice, he fantasises about kissing him then and there. Keith must be able to tell, because he flees and then doesn't talk to him for weeks.

* * *

It's 1am and Shiro feels restless. Keith has held him to silver again at Worlds, but that's not the issue. He finds it hard to feel inspired at his rink any more and he feels himself plateauing. He wants to be better, because the thrill of battling at the top is what gives his existence meaning. It means he gets to keep seeing Keith. Therein lies the rub. He only feels his drive with full force when he’s with Keith. And beyond competitions, Keith is always on the other side of the world.

It's insane, he knows, but at dawn he makes enquiries. He tells his coach that Tokyo might not be right for him any more, and asks if he will put in a word with Skate Canada. He's not sure what he's expecting, but it's certainly not to hear yes from Montgomery 24 hours later. Then it hits him at force with what he's done, and he forgets about time zones to call Keith in a panic. He still remembers what it was like to be cut off after the Grand Prix gala, and he'll go to any length to avoid that misery again. But Keith reassures him with soft, sleepy words and just like that, it becomes real. He packs up his belongings in his tiny city flat and moves into the spare room in Keith’s apartment. It takes a solid week for his head to catch up and the jetlag to ease, but he feels his inspiration flooding back to him all at once in Keith's presence.

He monitors it carefully though and caps it when it feels too intense, terrified of finding a way to scare him off again. He still skates with him at the rink after practice alone and waits an extra fifteen minutes for him to wake so they can walk together in the mornings. But he makes sure to keep his feelings wrapped tight under lock and key, because not being able to hold Keith is infinitely better than not having him at all. His focus is back, ahead of a new season that will contain the Winter Games.

* * *

It catches Shiro off-guard. The high of Olympic glory is buzzing through his veins, and watching Keith execute a perfect Free has him both proud and hungry for his own success. The take-off feels fine, but then he realises there’s _too_ much height and speed. For a crazy split-second he thinks he might actually complete the very first quad axel in competitive history. But then reality bites down with vicious teeth. Shiro barely has enough time to throw his hands out to stop his fall. The snap goes through him like a shockwave and he hears a yelp from across the ice, where he knows Keith has refused to leave to sit with the other medallists. When he meets his eyes, he only has one thought.

_Please don't do anything stupid._

The pain hasn't set in yet, so Shiro scrambles to his feet to find the music again. He's missed the combination, but there's still two elements left - his step sequence and his spin. But an ache settles into his wrist as he crosses past the judges that fills his bones with lead and leaves his movements stilted. A fog covers his mind and he can't remember how to move. By the time he reaches his final spin, his right arm is burning from shoulder to fingertip and he wants to scream, but he grits his teeth and cages it to his side. He doesn't hear the music finish, but he drops. Keith is suddenly there in front of him, looking like some kind of angel of fire and ice in shimmering red crystals and lycra.

“Baby…” he murmurs hazily.

In a misplaced stroke of luck, Keith doesn’t hear him, too busy shouting at the medical officers that are rushing out onto the rink. Shiro’s head falls on Keith's shoulder and the other skater gathers him up, carefully avoiding his right side, to take most of his weight and haul him to his feet as if he doesn't have 45 pounds on him.

“It's going to be okay,” Keith promises him unfairly, because none of this is okay, but Shiro nods anyway. Then Keith is hurtling insults at the medical staff as they finally meet them, cursing out one target as she takes his right arm and Shiro seethes. They press a mask to his face that makes him feel less like he would like to hack the limb off from the shoulder. His memory of the rink goes fuzzy from there.

He watches the medal ceremony from a hospital bed, x-rays already taken and arm wrapped in a splint. There are multiple breaks and fractures, and it doesn't bode well. They don't know how much strength and motion he will lose yet; it's too early. But time is precious as a skater and he already knows he's lost the rest of the season at a bare minimum. The fact that it's his right arm weighs even heavier, and he doubts his dexterity will translate as well in his left.

He tries to smile for Keith when he returns, but he’s consciously aware it falls flat. It's not fair, he knows. He is so proud of Keith he could burst, and his Olympic title is what he deserves, but his own failure sours the congratulations in his throat. He knows Keith can tell. He hates himself for it.

The Holts, after travelling halfway across the globe to support their foster son, have let him go to be by Shiro’s bedside instead of celebrating together. This should be one of the happiest days of Keith's life, but he has tarnished it beyond repair.

When Keith is asleep and tucked under his own Team Japan jacket in the chair beside him, Shiro finally turns his phone back on, fumbling one-handed to set it to silent when his messages flood in. He glances over to Keith, but he doesn't stir, lips popped open and breathing softly. It makes his heart squeeze painfully. He's so close, so beautiful, and for the first time, Shiro wants to run away. He ignores messages from Lance and Lotor, sending a quick email to his grandparents to update them on his status and let them know he'll be home sooner than expected. He hovers over Allura’s message for a moment, before opening it.

_I don't know what to say, Shiro… I'm so sorry. Please tell me if you need anything at all._

Shiro taps out a reply that is slow and clumsy with his left hand.

_It's fine._

_Congrats again on the silver._

He surprised to see ellipses appear almost immediately. It's far too late for her to be awake.

_Is Keith with you?_

Shiro types an affirmative and gets a barrage of responses right away.

_I thought so. He's missing his own party…_

_Not that that's your fault!!_

_I just wish you guys were here._

_One of your rinkmates has taken a shine to me unfortunately by the way. The bronze medallist? He and Lotor are NOT getting along._

_But I should let you rest. Get well soon, okay? We need you back ASAP x_

Shiro answers numbly.

_I'll try my best. Good night Allura._

He sets the phone down and turns to look at Keith, moonlight spilling through inky hair and over his sweet face. He watches his brow crease ever so slightly in his sleep before he relaxes again and resettles into what must be a rather uncomfortable seat. Shiro's arm aches violently again.

* * *

The cherry blossoms are starting to bloom in Tokyo when Shiro has his final surgical consult. He takes a photo of one of the branches outside his grandparents’ flat and hovers over Keith’s contact for a moment, before deciding better and closing the app. Keith is diligent in trying to stay in contact, but he seems to understand that his unanswered texts don't warrant calls just yet. Or maybe he's afraid Shiro won't answer those too.

Shiro wants to. He misses his voice so terribly that he makes himself ill with it, but after seeing Worlds and how badly Keith tanks, he resolves to stay away. He feels so weighed down with the thought of his future and the last thing he would ever want to do is put that burden on Keith too. So he suffers, but at least it's quarantined, and he walks the path alone.

Tokyo is alive with spring, but Shiro only sees in black and white when they put the plate in his arm and he starts his rehab. Already, he has lost so much strength on his right, and he snaps at the physical therapist when his cup slips out of his grip to spill all over the floor. He feels guilty, but more so he just feels angry in a way he can't contain, and the world grows a little darker every day.

His grandfather worries, so his aunt comes around to the flat on one of his rest days. She nudges him onto the JR and takes him out to Meiji to pray for his recovery. Shiro needs her help to wash his hands and he can't clap before the Shrine, so it feels like a colossal waste of time. He stands and stares at the hanging _ema_ , wondering what wish Keith would write on the wood if he were with him, until she's ready to leave.

He doesn't want to hear the odds, he's made that clear from day one. If he’s destined for failure, he’d rather not know. He works through his rehab like a man possessed, if only to exhaust the voice in his head that creeps in with words of doubt and despair. When that fails, he thinks of Keith. It leaves his heart sore, but it powers him through one more lift, one more set, one more day.

He's back on the ice as the last petals fall from the trees, but his arm is still in a sling, and he's horrified by how much it hampers his movements. His grandmother's tonkatsu tastes like ash and the black swallows him up anew. But he summons up the faintest thoughts of violet irises and it's enough to keep him pushing, even if sometimes it feels like he’s on autopilot.

When the surgeon gives him the all-clear in September to return to full practice, Shiro is surprised to find the joy and relief is missing. The doctor heaps praise on his commitment to his recovery and remarks on how well he has healed, but the little voice is still whispering dark seduction in his ear. He knows this isn't a guarantee, and he has a long way to go before he truly knows if he can be competitive again. He's not sure if he will raise his arm for the Lutz ever again and that alone feels like a death knell. He calls Montgomery and tells her he's coming back, and she promises to contact his physical therapist to ensure his transition back to full training is seamless.

At the airport, he stares at Keith’s face on his phone screen, and almost drops it when a message comes through then and there. It's from him, and Shiro knows the flight list is a real threat so he rushes a reply of _Don't_. Then he realises it's the first thing he's said to him since the end of February and he almost has a heart attack, scrambling to follow it with a picture of his gate number, hoping he'll understand. Keith’s reply comes through laced with hurt, and it takes him the full flight to finally think of the right words to say.

_I'm sorry..._

* * *

His name on Keith’s lips haunts him. He dreams, has nightmares of his tears and it almost breaks him apart. His ribs feel too small for his lungs and he's just so desperate to breathe again. He had thought staying away was the right thing to do, that his presence was a poison after his arm, but Keith throws his perception into a spin. So he waits on the ice, and hopes.

Keith's hand in his brings some relief. He indulges his silly requests and looks up at Shiro like there was never anything to forgive. The final thread snaps and suddenly it's not enough. He starts to lay himself bare, ready to accept the fall, but immediately Keith is holding him steady and telling him he loves him, banishing the black voice to stitch his broken pieces back together again.

Shiro won't let go on the walk home, as if Keith is the only thing tethering him to the earth. Their pace isn't urgent, and Keith stops them on the bridge when the fireworks mark midnight. Shiro kisses him again, because now he knows he can, he never wants to stop. He feels Keith smile and finally he can breathe again.

His hands smooth up his sides in the early hours of the new year, counting the bumps of ribs under his fingers and pressing into the sinew between. He knows his feelings would have stood firm regardless of what followed, but this is just cherries on top. Keith arches and moans, and Shiro is right there with him, rising up to murmur to the bruises blooming on his collarbone.

“I've got you.”

Desperate, trembling hands come to his jaw and he looks up into wild violet eyes. Keith's breath puffs warm against his lips and he slots them messily with Shiro’s as he rolls his hips down. Keith breaks apart with a gasp, blinking unseeing.

“Shiro… Takashi... I need…”

Shiro hums a soft reassurance into the underside of his jaw, cradling his hips and pushing him down gently into the mattress.

* * *

At Worlds, a little over a year after shattering his arm, Shiro kisses tears away from high on Keith’s cheeks as he pulls his arms through his jacket. He speaks before Shiro can apologise.

“I know why you didn't tell me,” Keith says, a beautiful picture of defiance even when he is upset in the face of his sudden retirement.  
“I'm still angry though. Why now?”

Shiro can't help but smile, which makes Keith growl, which makes him laugh. He leans down to kiss him properly and Keith lets him, so perhaps the pout is a little exaggerated.

“It felt right,” he says softly. “If I’m honest, I didn't think I'd make it back here at all. But somehow I did and now I want to finish on my own terms.”  
He brushes his fingers through soft ebony hair, tucking it behind his ear.  
“I've already asked Montgomery if I can stay on as a coach and she's said yes.”

Keith's eyes widen almost comically.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

Keith wraps his arms around the back of his neck and surges up into a crash of a kiss. From across the locker room, Shiro hears Lance make a noise of false-disgust. Keith flips him off without missing a beat.

* * *

There’s a songbird fluttering its wings against his ribcage when Keith takes his hand at the boards. He squeezes tight, just like the first time, and lets Shiro lead them out into the centre of the ice.

The first notes of a sweet rhapsody play, and they part for the opposite ends of the rink. It's not just a gala, it's their story, and when Shiro launches into a double axel, Keith copies him a moment later, eyes fixed on him. It’s a metaphorical mimicry of a childhood spent watching and learning from afar. They cross at the centre, lingering a moment, and Shiro reaches out to touch. But then the music changes and he retracts to continue on their opposing paths again.

He transitions from a spread eagle into a double-triple toe combination, knowing Keith has landed the same behind him, if the crowd’s response is any indication. He turns and sees Keith coming back to the centre again, ahead of him. He glides past as Keith stops still to watch, meeting his eyes when he skates backwards to kick off into his signature quad Lutz. Keith is grinning in the centre of the rink, and the music changes again to something softer and hopeful as Shiro meets him and they spin around each other.

Shiro offers his hand and Keith curls his fingers around it immediately, dipping with ease into a cosmic death spiral. Shiro pulls him up, remembering the first time he saw violet eyes, and it's hard not to kiss him right then and there. They take off in the same direction this time, staying close. He glances to Keith as they turn to skate backwards, and Keith gives him a little nod. Pride surges through him, and they both push off on their outside edge for a synchronised quad Lutz as the music crashes triumphantly. Shiro can't hear the crowd over the breathy laugh Keith makes when he takes his hand again. They step together and twizzle, finding speed again as the music builds to a climax. Then Shiro is at Keith’s back, an arm crossed over his belly to sit at his hip. He can feel Keith breathing a little hard against him, and warmth radiates from him in a way that should be uncomfortable, but Shiro only finds reassuring. It's ambitious, leaving a throw this late in a gala skate, where points and medals don't exist. Montgomery tried to remind them as much several times over when the fatigue would hit them both at this point during their practices.

But Keith nods minutely again and Shiro forgets the ache that tries to settle into his bones. His grip tightens, and he propels Keith up at full force. Somehow he squeezes four rotations in the air, to Shiro’s profound awe. Keith must be shocked too, because he laughs and gives an unchoreographed fist pump as he lands with an extended free leg and only the slightest of wobbles.

Shiro touches his face as he catches up to to him once more. They move in tandem under the violet light for the final stanza and Shiro knows he's smiling because Keith is too. The crowd slips away and it's just them, the ice and the music.

Shiro wraps his arms around him for the last note as they come to a stand still. He's somehow even more beautiful than the first day he set eyes on him. It defies nature. And for some reason, he knows, beyond his cognition of the universe and everything in it, he belongs wholeheartedly to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said Prelude would be a oneshot? My WIP would like to make an objection...
> 
> I really love writing from Shiro's perspective - even more than Keith - so this was both wonderful and emotionally taxing to complete. I couldn't just leave without showing the events of Prelude from Shiro's eyes, so hopefully it doesn't come across quite as self-indulgent as it is.
> 
> There's still more to come though. It's not done yet! 
> 
> I always want to expand this universe, so please yell at me about it at [copilotsheith](http://www.copilotsheith.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
